‘You don’t aim to hit the target, you aim to hit behind it,’ Harlon instructed, raising a pad. ‘You only hit the target, then you’re just ticklin’ it, ain’t ya? Aim a good foot behind.’ Lyra balled her right hand into a fist. ‘Thumb on the outside,’ the old man corrected, ‘And defend with the other fist; as you strike, pull the defending fist back to your waist and repeat.’ Lyra followed his instructions and started to punch at the pad. ‘Footwork, Missy, wider stance and keep it moving,’ Harlon continued as she moved nimbly in the sand. ‘Now move to a cross punch, change your stance!’
Lyra threw punch after punch at the pad, changing stance and hitting according to Harlon’s positioning.
‘Have you seen him?’ Lyra asked as she attacked the target.
‘The boy can rip a man’s heart out with one punch, straight through the back!’ the old man stated, diverting the conversation.
‘That’s really nice,’ Lyra sniped.
‘Back-fist followed by hook. Keep your wrist turned so you don’t go breakin’ it.’ Lyra twisted her stance to accommodate each punch accordingly.
‘Have you spoken to Kane?’ Lyra insisted.
‘Missy, you be worryin’ ‘bout what you’re doing and not nothin’ else!’ the old man asserted, ‘You promised to obey him, and this is what he says you gotta do, so that’s that.’
Lyra stopped moving and flopped forward, placing her hands on her knees.
‘It hurts, Harlon,’ she whimpered.
‘Guess it does,’ Harlon replied kindly, ‘But you ain’t whole yet, Missy, and that’s what you gotta be worryin’ ‘bout.’
‘What’s the point?’ Lyra snapped painfully.
‘Old Harlon seen a lot, Missy, and one thing Old Harlon knows is no one can depend on no one, so you gotta start fightin’ back.’ Observing the sadness in her face, he added, ‘You can do this, Lyra, I’m here for you.’ Lyra smiled; it was the first time that Harlon had called her by her name.
‘OK, let’s go,’ she puffed, and resumed her reign of angry blows.
‘Lift your knee, bend and then flick.’ Lyra kicked at the lowered pad. Harlon raised the pad to his side, ‘Turn to a ninety-degree stance and flick from the knee for the side kick.’ Lyra followed his instructions perfectly. ‘Now I’m gonna move and change the pad; you use your punches, back-fists and kicks to attack.’ Lyra moved with stealth, throwing the full force of her pain into the practice. Day turned to night, and night turned to day as she continued her regime of fighting and shooting arrows. Harlon replaced the bow with a crossbow, and then a harpoon. Each night he stayed with her, watching over her as instructed by Kane. She ate the stew without hesitation, and adhered to every instruction with an intense vigour, but the nights were lonely. Lyra wept to herself as the loneliness engulfed her; this was not self-imposed isolation, this was a hideous emptiness that she could neither overcome nor change. The days turned into weeks, and Lyra’s skills improved exponentially.
Early one morning, as harvest crept into winter, Harlon woke Lyra early, thudding through her room with a bag,
‘Your clothes, Missy, just ain’t suitable. Damp shoes and thin leggings, no good for out here.’ Lyra clambered out of bed in her shift; her body well-toned from the training. ‘Old Harlon got you some things to try, so first we got a good set of trousers.’ Lyra took the garments and pulled them on. The denim clung to her thighs, accentuating her curves. ‘Boots better than them there sneakers.’ Harlon handed her what appeared to be a strong pair of black riding boots and she slipped them on. ‘And a leather jacket, keep you warm and dry. Hard-wearin’ too.’
‘Old Harlon made you somethin’ special,’ he continued, removing a black, leather scabbard from the bag and strapping it to her leg, ‘Because it’s time to learn the knife, ain’t it?’ He drew a sharpened machete from the bag and handed it to her. ‘Old Harlon looks after your clothes from now on!’ he stated assertively, handing the woman the knife. She looked over the blade and her thoughts turned to Kane. Lyra closed her eyes and imagined him chasing her through the woods, and how he had saved her, driving the knife into the bark. She thought of the monster, her love, running his blade across her naked flesh and inadvertently shuddered. It had been so long since she had seen him, and each day the pain worsened, and the isolation grew as bitter as the coldness outside; the coldness of his wilderness. Knowing that Kane was so close, and yet inaccessible to her, only made the pain worse. She wanted to see him, if only from a distance.
‘Hold the hilt, but not too tightly, and twist the knife in your hand,’ Harlon instructed as they stood under the trees in the icy weather. Lyra twisted and turned the hilt between her fingers. ‘It’s an extension of your fist, nothin’ more,’ Harlon explained as Lyra scanned the forest looking for signs of the creature. ‘You payin’ me any heed at all, Missy?’
‘I’m listening,’ Lyra lied. She had tried many times to communicate with Kane using her mind, but he had closed himself off to her completely. Her senses had attuned well enough to enable her to perceive his presence and movement in the forest. All efforts to communicate, however, had failed.
‘Now, over your head and twist, you need to feel confident with moving it about in your hand!’ Lyra obeyed, but her attention flitted back to his realm of the forest; she would hunt him as he had hunted her. Her temper rose and she flipped the blade furiously. ‘Run and hit the mark!’ Harlon shouted, sensing her growing strength. Lyra ran angrily towards the tree and twisted the blade, belting it into the mark. ‘Again!’ Harlon coaxed, and Lyra retrieved the blade only to hurl it into the tree a second time. ‘Aim through the mark like your punches,’ the old man shouted excitedly.
‘I’ve set up targets through this neck of the woods and lake,’ Harlon explained, loading the quiver onto Lyra’s back. ‘You take out every target at speed, but you can’t be seen.’
‘Seen by who?’ Lyra asked hopefully.
‘By Old Harlon, I got eyes and I can move when I want to.’ Lyra sighed, reminiscing over Kane chasing her through the woods. She wished he could be hunting her again. Lyra placed the machete in the scabbard and waited.
‘Five targets altogether, can be anywhere. I give you half a minute, then I come looking.’ Harlon glared down at his watch and raised an eyebrow at Lyra, indicating that it was time, and closed his wrinkled eyelids.
Lyra ran softly across the sand, placing audio distance between herself and Harlon; she then dashed into the woods and climbed the first tree with an inhuman ability. Using the branches, she leapt silently from one canopy to another, checking her area continually. Her sharp eyes searched the bark for targets, and she shifted repeatedly, away from the old man’s light footsteps. Spying her first target, she looped her leg about a branch and swung upside down, taking the target out with one arrow. Her body dropped at the perimeter of Kane’s land and she spotted a mark free-standing in the treeline. Her agile body darted towards the mark and the machete was drawn and swung with perfect direction.
The machete was quickly replaced. Lyra sensed that there was a mark on the raft. She slunk down to the lake and dropped herself beneath the surface before travelling like a torpedo to the raft. Her open eyes spotted the mark between the wooden planks, and she drove the machete upwards, so that she remained immersed. Swiftly she returned to the shore and waited to hear the old man’s footsteps before rising and heading away from him. Nimbly, she dashed from tree to tree until the fifth target came into view and she destroyed it with one clean shot. Checking her perimeter first, she swung back up into the treetops and travelled back in the direction of her cabin. Harlon had been unable to track her; she hoped that she could evade him long enough to reach Kane and planned on putting it to the test under nightfall. The final target fell under Lyra’s knife at the cabin, and she called for Harlon.
‘Old Harlon thinks you’re ready,’ the old man praised.
‘Ready?’ Lyra asked, her mind still consumed with thoughts of Kane.
‘Ready to makes your first kill.’ Lyra frowned; she still did not know if she had the ability to kill. ‘Trick is to remember you’re ain’t human, and you ain’t gonna do well without it,’ Harlon reassured.
‘Who do I kill?’ Lyra asked, assuming that Kane would beat her to the kill with any intruder.
‘Makes it easy the first time, Nicolas, he gives the kill to me and I let him go here,’ Harlon muttered. Lyra recalled Lilith’s story about Nicolas being Harlon’s Immortalis before Kane. Lyra wondered if all Immortalis left their ghoul, and if Kane would leave too. ‘Now, Missy, Nicolas, he don’t just give Old Harlon anyone, he gives criminals to make it easier for ya.’ Lyra decided against asking how either the criminals or their detailed history was obtained. She had heard enough bizarre tales and seen enough brutality to not want to know. ‘Tomorrow night’s the night, so you go get some rest, Missy, and Old Harlon, he go get some stew for ya,’ the old man stated, wandering off up the trail.
The ease of his exit made Lyra suspicious; perhaps the old man read her thoughts and knew of her plan or perhaps he just trusted her. Lyra furrowed her brow and raced into the treeline to follow the old man’s movements. It soon became clear that he was indeed going back to his own cabin, and Lyra darted through the treeline to the end of the trail and climbed into the trees, moving from branch to branch until she entered Kane’s land. There were no movements in the forest, not movements that could be attributed to Kane anyway; just the sway of trees in the wind and the scurrying of small, nocturnal animals. Lyra dropped from the canopy and moved nimbly to Kane’s cabin. There were lights inside, but she would draw him out.
Kane stared out into the wilderness; as quiet as she was, he could sense her presence. She had defied him, failing his malicious test of obedience. One of the bells rang in the basement; the clever girl was trying to lure him out. Kane waited. Another bell rang, and then all went silent. With a sudden thump the back door banged. Kane raced through the cabin to the back door to find that there was no one there. He strode furiously to the front of the cabin; the front door stood agape. Fury grew; she had defied him and was now taunting him. He drew his machete with an almighty clinkink and raised it, before flicking his own switch to off. The forest sank into a bleak, cold darkness.
Lyra watched from a high branch as Kane strode into the forest with the machete slinging from his hand. She glided from tree to tree, gazing at him intermittently through the branches. One canopy after another, until he failed to manifest. Lyra leaned into the bark and scanned the forest floor. She moved from tree to tree, checking the nook of each trunk, but was unable to find him. Her hand caught hold of a branch and she swung underneath and dropped silently to the ground. Her hand reached into the quiver and pulled a selection of arrows out and shot one after another around the woodland, forming an aggressive arc. In the distance she heard the crack of a branch; she had seen Kane confuse and frighten his victims using the same tactic. Lyra crouched in the shelter of a tree and waited.
